


Like I'll Never Love You Again

by BluePhoenix73



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Erotic Pie Baking, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, Inspired by Music, M/M, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, You heard me, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-07 15:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11626305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluePhoenix73/pseuds/BluePhoenix73
Summary: When a heavy storm catches Sam, Dean, and Castiel off guard on their way home from a hunt, they seek shelter at your house to ride it out. Trapped inside with your dog and cat, you finally meet those close to Dean... and explore the chemistry you discovered years ago.Set during mid-to-late Season 11. Inspired by the song"Like I'll Never Love You Again"by Carrie Underwood. I tried to write it so nothing gives away whether "you" are female or male, so hopefully this works for anyone who loves our dashing Dean Winchester.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thanks for deciding to read this! ^_^ You've made me very happy! Once upon a time I was going to attempt to title the chapters with clever names. I still might at some point, but for now, I've decided not to, so this baby is done! I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Y/N = your name

You turned up the volume on your radio as you stepped out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a towel. 

“Looks like we’re in for high winds, gusting up to 50 miles an hour at times, with thunderstorms and torrential rain for the next three days,” one of the hosts of the morning show you always listened to said. “Can’t wait to drive home today, it’s going to be a great commute. Really looking forward to it. Now in sports...” 

You sighed and turned your attention to drying yourself off. Fall was always when these big thunderstorms hit. At least you had just finished a job, tracking down a wendigo in South Carolina. It had given you an excuse to see your uncle, at least, and hopefully you wouldn’t pick up anything else until the weather had decided against turning any venture outside into a wet t-shirt contest. 

You combed your hair into submission and threw your comb into its drawer. You hit the power button on your radio, hung your towel up semi-neatly, and migrated to your room, sliding into the comfy sweats you had laid out on your bed. You peeked through the closed blinds obscuring your window: the rain had already started, and the wind was picking up. Your cat brushed up against your legs. 

“Hey Jiji,” you said, reaching down to stroke his midnight fur. “No going outside for a couple days, okay? Don’t need more paw prints tracked through the hallway.” 

Jiji meowed and trotted out of the room. 

“And tell Lola, too!” you called after him, referring to your husky. “No muddy paws!” You chuckled at the way your pets sometimes seemed to understand you. You knew your pets were intelligent, though. Best hunting partners you could have asked for. 

Your ringtone shook you out of your reflections, startling you somewhat. You unplugged your phone and stared at the name on the screen in disbelief. It was one you thought you’d never see again. You almost forgot to answer. 

“Well, well, Dean Winchester,” you said when you finally answered the phone. “You must be in some pretty deep shit if you’re finally calling me.” 

“Less shit, more mud,” Dean’s voice answered from the other end. It was much gruffer than you remember it being, but it was definitely still him behind it. “So tell me, you still live in that little house off that road to nowhere?” 

“I do live fifteen minutes from town, you know,” you said. “And yes. Why?” 

“Great. We’ll be there in five minutes.” 

Click. 

Dean. Always short and sweet with the calls. He must have gotten caught in the storm on his way somewhere else. But... did he say “we?” You started rifling through your closet. News got around—you knew John was dead. So who was he with? What was he up to? Still, you thought as you pulled on your favorite pair of jeans, you hadn’t seen Dean in almost twelve years, and you were going to make a much better impression than last time. 

You pulled a figure-flattering sweater from its hanger and hung your hoodie in its place. It wasn’t your usual style, maybe—blood was so hard to get out of this thing—but it did look good on you. You slid your feet into some well-worn boots and laced them up quickly, trying to figure out if you had time to put on moisturizer or something before Dean and whoever he had invited along with him arrived. 

A knock on your door answered for you. 

You heard Lola’s paws on the floor as she dashed to the door, making a noise somewhere between a bark and a howl. You jogged over to the door and gave the top of her white head a pat. 

“Ssh, it’s okay,” you whispered. You unlocked the three locks on your door and pulled it open, revealing Dean leaning casually against the door frame, clad in jeans, a red button-down layered over a black t-shirt, and a brown leather jacket. His face looked tougher than the last time you’d seen it, too: like he’d been to hell and back. Knowing him, probably more than just the one time you knew about. His shimmering, gold-flecked forest green eyes were deeper somehow, like they wanted to draw you in when he looked up at you, but his always-charming smile seized the moment. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, walking through the door. “Thanks for letting us ride out the storm here.” 

“Wait, what?” you said. “When did I agree to that?” You glanced down at his muddied boots as they clomped over your floor. “Dean Winchester, wipe your feet!” 

He rolled his eyes, took a couple steps back, and wiped his shoes on your doormat, maintaining eye contact with you as he did. 

“There. Happy?” 

“Slightly less frustrated,” you replied, your words decidedly staccato. 

Two men followed him in, both of them considerate enough not to track mud through your home. The first was taller than Dean by a few inches, his chestnut hair curling slightly around his strong jawline. The other was about the same height as Dean, with dark, messy hair and a long, soaking wet trench coat draped over his shoulders. 

“Care to introduce me?” You called to Dean, who had headed directly for your refrigerator, as you closed the door behind the man in the trench. 

The first one set down the bags he was carrying. “My name is Sam,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m—” 

“Dean’s brother,” you finished for him, accepting his handshake. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I wondered if I’d ever actually get to find out for myself if any of it was true. You’re...” you paused, considering your next word. “Taller than I expected.” 

He chuckled, looking down at the floor and shaking his head slightly. “Yeah, I get that a lot. Anyway, this is Cas—er, Castiel. He’s... um...” 

“I’m an angel,” Castiel interrupted, his voice gravelly and deep. 

“And not a subtle one at that,” Sam added with a nod. 

“O-kay…” you replied slowly, trying to process what you’d just been told. “Great. That won’t paint a big target on my house or anything. Not at all.” 

“Oh, I think us just being here is going to make your house a target, Y/N,” Dean said, strolling out of your kitchen with a bottle of beer in hand. 

“Fantastic, I’m _so_ glad you invited yourselves to stay, then,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“Speaking of which, is there anywhere we can unload some of this?” Sam asked, gesturing to the bags he and Castiel had brought in. 

“Yeah,” you said, nodding toward the hallway. “There’s a guest room down the hall on the left, across from the study. But it’s only got one double bed, so…” 

“I call it,” Sam said, grabbing two of the bags and slinging them over his shoulders. Dean threw him a look. “Hey, I carried the stuff, I get the bed.” Sam winked at you and began toting the bags down to his temporary quarters. 

“So, what about the rest of us?” Dean said, taking a sip of his beer. “Kicking your pets out of their beds?” 

“Dean, I don’t think they would like that very much,” Castiel interjected. 

You held back a laugh. “No, no, nothing so drastic. There’s the sofa here in the living room, and there’s actually a pretty comfortable overstuffed chair in the study, too, if one of you wants to take that. Or I guess one of you could bunk with me. I’m sure Jiji wouldn’t mind.” 

“I should probably be the one to stay out here,” Castiel said. “That way I can warn you if anyone decides to… drop by.” 

“I guess that leaves the study for you, Dean,” you started. “It’s really not a bad place to—” 

“Nah, Sammy’ll need that for his books and crap,” Dean said with a wave of his free hand. “Besides, I’d never miss a chance to annoy you.” 

“No, clearly you wouldn’t,” you sighed, punching him lightly on the arm. “Alright, Winchester, you’re with me. Castiel, make yourself at home.” 

You led Dean to your room, a pass-through room on the other side of the wall. One door led out to the kitchen, the other to a small section of the hallway that connected your room, the study, the upstairs bathroom, and the guest room. 

“Easy kitchen access?” Dean said, eyeing the door. “I could get used to that.” 

“That door creaks like nobody’s business,” you warned him. 

“So?” 

“So if you wake me up, I will _kill_ you.” 

“I’d like to see you try.” 

“Dean Winchester, you have seen no monster, no demon, no entity, as fearsome as I am when my sleep is disturbed,” you promised him, throwing his duffel bag onto your bed. You left through the hallway door and ventured into the guest bedroom, where Sam was hanging his coat in one side of the spacious closet. 

“Y/N, this is amazing,” he said. “Thank you for letting us stay.” 

“I’m just glad you’re out of the storm,” you said, opening the other door of the closet and fishing out a couple of pillows. “They can get pretty nasty. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” 

“Sure thing,” Sam nodded. “And I’m sorry about Dean, he’s been a little—” 

“He’s always been ‘a little,’” you reassured him. “Don’t worry, I can handle myself.” 

“See if you still feel that way after you see how he eats.” 

“He’s gotten _worse?_ ” 

Sam nodded. “Tons.” 

“Oh boy,” you sighed, leaving Sam’s room with a smile on your face. You returned to your room and threw the pillows at Dean, who was snooping through your dresser. 

“Hey!” he said. 

“Hey yourself! Can’t I get any privacy around here?” 

“If it helps, you have full clearance to go through my underthings any time you want.” He gave you a wink and a flirty smile. 

“Be careful what you wish for, Dean,” you said, a mischievous smirk flickering across your lips. “You just might get it.” 

“No, don’t ruin the game!” 

You laughed, picking up the pillows and arranging your bed to accommodate two people. “There, that should do it. I just hope two pillows are enough to support that big head of yours.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said, walking over to you. “Really, Y/N, you look great. It’s been how long?” 

“About twelve years, I think?” 

He looked you up and down, then locked eyes with you. “Good job growing up. You were barely legal last time we met.” 

You swallowed the blush creeping up your neck and smiled at him. “And you were still reporting back to daddy after every hunt. Good job growing up, yourself.” 

Dean exhaled a little heavier than usual in a kind of half laugh. “Yeah, thanks for that.” 

“Anytime. Oh, and you might want to put your shoes in the front closet. Lola knows better than to mess with mine, but yours...” you shrugged. “Who knows?” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Have you always been such a neat freak?” 

“Hey, if you want your shoes to get chewed up, that’s _your_ decision.” 

Dean sighed heavily, grabbed his shoes, and walked out to the living room. You smiled to yourself. _Some things don’t change._ You followed Dean, watching as he tossed his shoes haphazardly into the closet by the door. 

“Do you want me to straighten them out, your highness?” he asked, spotting you watching him from the doorway. 

“No, no, it won’t bother me, I’m sure,” you said as he closed the closet door. 

“Good. I’m gonna go take a nap. Something about the rain, you know?” Dean clapped you on the shoulder and slipped past you. 

“Nighty-night, princess,” you called after him. You wandered over to the couch, where Castiel was softly petting Jiji. “Hi, Castiel.” 

“Hello.” 

“Do you need anything?” you started, unsure of how to talk to an angel. You had never met one that was on your side before. “Can I get you pillows, blankets…” you shrugged. “Anything?” 

“I don’t think so,” he replied over Jiji’s purrs. 

“He seems to like you,” you commented. “He doesn’t really take to people much.” You watched them for a moment. “How long have you known Dean and Sam, Castiel?” 

Castiel thought for a moment. “Probably about seven years now. Why do you ask?” 

“I just…” you hesitated. “How is Dean?” 

“Dean is… better than he has been for a while,” Castiel said. “He was recently freed of an affliction that made him somewhat short-tempered.” 

“More than usual?” 

“Yes.” 

“It’s hard to imagine that,” you laughed. “Well, I’m glad he’s feeling more normal again. Was it a curse or something?” 

“You could say that,” Castiel nodded. 

“I’m really glad it’s over then! Those can get pretty nasty.” You got up and looked at Castiel, his bright blue eyes staring up at you uneasily. “It… it _is_ over, isn’t it?” 

“I’ll let Dean tell you more.” 

“That doesn’t really answer my question.” 

“I didn’t really mean to.” 

You smiled. “So you’re a funny angel. Okay.” You turned to leave. “I try to be a good host, so you know, if there’s anything I can do for you, just say the word.” 

“What word?” 

You chuckled. “It means ask.” 

“Well actually, there is one thing.” 

You stopped. “What’s that, Castiel?” 

“I can’t really appreciate it the same way since I got my grace back, but… would you mind if I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? I really miss those, and all we ever have around is chunky peanut butter. Dean insists it’s superior to smooth, but it makes it harder to imagine the individual particles are—” 

“Well, Dean doesn’t understand a lot of things,” you interrupted. “There’s some smooth peanut butter in the corner cupboard there, and there’s a couple different kinds of jelly in the fridge. Have fun!” 

A broad smile spread over Castiel’s face. “Thank you, Y/N.” 

“No problem. Feel free to make yourself a sandwich whenever you want.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y/F/B = your favorite book
> 
> Thank you to [i4z-0892-imagines](http://i4z-0892-imagines.tumblr.com/) for the idea for the Nerf war!

Leaving Castiel and Jiji to themselves, you made your way to the study, expecting to find it empty. What you saw, however, was Sam reading something, the light of his laptop glowing around its edges, his back to the door. You tiptoed over to him, trying to peek at what it was, wondering if it might be related to whatever problem Dean had had that may or may not have gotten over. Upon closer inspection—and to your horror—you realized it was the novel you had been working on, loosely based on some of your hunts, and which was _far_ from ready for publication. 

“Give me that!” You exclaimed, snatching the bound notebook from Sam’s grasp. 

“Hey, papercuts everywhere!” Sam said, though his tone was good-natured. “Why so protective?” 

“No one is supposed to see this yet,” you said, closing the notebook and holding it against your chest. “It’s not even done, and don’t get me started on revising… mostly it’s just notes at this point, and… why do you care, anyway?” 

“So, is the protagonist supposed to be you?” 

“I took some of the experiences from my hunts, but come on, it’s fiction.” 

“And who is the dashing man that keeps popping up?” 

“A complete figment of my imagination.” You stashed the notebook at the back of the bookshelf where it had been before. 

“With eyes strikingly similar to Dean’s?” 

“Okay, I’ll admit that I think Dean has very pretty eyes. So I borrowed them. What’s wrong with that?” 

A grin broke over Sam’s face. “Nothing. Actually, I think the plot is going really well so far.” 

You were slightly taken aback. “Really? Because I kind of thought it was awful.” 

“Not at all. I really liked the scene with the dragons, in fact. Though I didn’t actually get to read much more before I was _cut_ off…” 

“Are you proud of that pun?” 

“Nah. I’m usually much better with words. Better than Dean is, anyway.” 

You sat in the overstuffed armchair, and Sam swiveled around in the office chair to face you. “You write?” 

“I used to,” Sam said. “A little, here and there.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. “I had this teacher back in school that said I had a real knack for it. A ‘vivid imagination.’ But—” 

“Little did he know that the stories were all true?” You guessed. 

“Mostly true.” Sam swiped a hand over his hair. “But yeah, that’s the gist. After a while, I ended up reading a lot more than I wrote. It probably helped me get into Stanford.” 

“Stanford? Wow. Guess you were the one who got the brains.” 

Sam chuckled. “Maybe. Dean has his moments though.” 

You tilted your head slightly. “Ehhh, I don’t know about that…” You smiled. “So, college boy, you must have studied literature, or at least read a good book or two. Any favorites?” 

“A few.” 

“Willing to share?” 

“Hey, we just met—I don’t know if we’re close enough to talk about favorite books yet.” 

“Come on, I’m letting you sleep in my house,” you insisted. “Besides, you can tell a lot about a person by their favorite book. For example…” You hopped off the armchair and made a beeline for one specific spot on the bookshelf, pulling out a worn paperback and handing it to Sam. “My favorite book is Y/F/B. I always keep this copy right here.” 

Sam turned the book over in his hands, examining the cover. “Not by your bed?” 

“If I kept it by my bed, I might never read anything else.” 

“Fair enough.” 

“Ever read it?” 

“I can’t say I have, no.” 

“ _Seriously?_ ” 

Sam looked up. “What?” 

You closed the lid of his laptop. “I am _outraged_ , Samuel Winchester! This is a fine piece of literature, and it is something every person should experience!” 

“I’m sorry if I’ve been a little busy,” Sam shot back. “We are hunters, you know.” 

“I know—I was joking,” you replied, grinning at Sam’s defensiveness. “You should read it, though. Maybe I’ll even let you borrow my copy.” 

“I’m honored,” Sam said, holding the book against his chest. “Thank you.” 

“You can borrow it as long as you’re here, anyway. After that… we’ll see. I don’t know if we’re close enough to start exchanging books.” 

Sam chuckled. “Then I’d better get cracking. It actually looks really interesting.” 

“Of course it looks interesting! We’re hunters—we don’t really _do_ boring.” 

Sam opened the book and began to read as Castiel slipped quietly into the room. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, glancing between you and Sam. 

“Sam’s just reading,” you replied. “Let him focus.” 

“Is it lore of some kind?” the angel asked. 

“Not… exactly,” Sam said. “It’s Y/N’s favorite book.” He flashed the cover at Cas. “Know it?” 

“I’ve never read this, no,” Castiel said. “But I’ve heard others speak of it.” 

“Maybe if we ask nicely, we can get Sam to read it to us,” you said, looking over at Sam. 

Sam laughed. “Oh, I don’t know about—” 

“Pretty please?” You batted your eyelashes comically as Castiel perched himself next to you on one arm of the chair. 

“It seems I’m outnumbered,” Sam relented. “Okay, story time.” 

For several minutes, you and Castiel listened intently as Sam read the book aloud, making a comment every so often that evolves into a discussion that is only sometimes related to the book’s contents. In the middle of a particularly spirited conversation, Dean walks into the room, yawning and stretching. 

“You guys woke me up from my nap,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “What’s so exciting in here?” 

“It’s story time,” you grinned, gesturing toward Sam. 

“You’re _reading?_ ” Dean asked, blinking hard a few times. 

“Y/N’s favorite book,” Sam nodded. “It’s been… interesting.” 

“What a bunch of nerds,” Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. Sam scoffed and smacked his brother with the book as you and Castiel looked on in amusement. 

“So… where were we?” asked Sam, looking back at the page and searching for the spot he’d left off. Dean found a spot on the floor and listened as Sam continued to read, toying with the ring on his finger and shaking his foot, looking very much like he’d rather be doing _anything_ else. Eventually, he stood up and left the room. Your eyes followed him out, but quickly returned to Sam, who hadn’t missed a beat. 

After a few moments, Sam was once again interrupted by his older brother, the latter shooting him in the chest with a Nerf gun. 

“Come on, this is much more exciting than any book,” Dean said, tossing a brightly-colored weapon at you. “Y/N, you’re with me: let’s show these losers who’s boss.” 

You walked over to Sam and took the foam dart from his hand, turning it over thoughtfully. “You know…” you said, pacing slowly over to Dean. “I think I’ll take Sam on this one. We just seem to be more…” you poked Dean in the chest with the dart. “ _In sync_.” 

Dean plucked the dart from your hand, never breaking eye contact with you. “You’re doing this just to spite me, aren’t you?” 

You walked over to the closet in the study, where you kept a couple more Nerf guns and some extra ammunition for occasions such as this. You threw a gun to Castiel and handed one to Sam before turning on your heel to face Dean. 

“And what if I am, Winchester?” you asked, loading your weapon of choice. “What are you gonna do about it?” 

 

* * *

 

This Nerf war thing had gotten slightly out of control. After two hours of stalking each other throughout the house, Castiel had been “shot” by Sam and was now happily watching Netflix in the study, which left Dean to stealth around solo. 

“He’s better at this than I thought,” you said quietly as you and Sam took cover behind the living room sofa. 

“You should’ve seen us when we were kids,” Sam chuckled, loading another dart into his Nerf gun. 

“Did he always take it _this_ seriously?” At some point, Dean had gotten into your stash of old craft supplies and painted war markings on his cheeks. The only paint he’d been able to find was bright pink, but that hadn’t deterred him. 

“He’s… something of a method actor,” Sam said, shaking his head. 

“Sa-mmy,” Dean’s voice interrupted, floating over to you from the kitchen. “Big brother’s watching you, Sammy.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. Cautiously, you peered around the corner of the couch. Dean was taking cover on the other side of the doorway, brandishing both his gun and Castiel’s. 

You motioned to Sam, mouthing words to him: 

 _“I’ll distract him, then you take the shot.”_  

Sam nodded, shifting his position slightly. You got to your knees. 

“Well, you’ve convinced me, Sam,” you said loudly. “Dean’s just too much for us. We should just give up now.” You began to raise your hands into the air. 

You heard Dean begin to pad over to the couch, his attention focused on you. “Say what? I don’t believe that for a—” 

Sam saw his opportunity and took it. He popped up from behind the opposite end of the sofa, pulling the trigger on his Nerf gun and nailing Dean in the forehead with a dart. 

“Did it work?” you asked, unmoving. 

“We got him!” Sam exclaimed, pumping his fist in victory. He helped you off the ground and you shared a celebratory handshake as Dean removed the dart from his forehead, looking at it in disgust. 

“And to you, Dean Winchester, an admirable opponent,” you said, reaching to shake his hand. He instead handed you the dart. 

“You’ll pay for this later,” he grumbled, skulking off toward the bathroom, presumably to wash the pink smudges from his cheeks. 

“Promises, promises,” you laughed, collecting the Nerf guns he’d abandoned. “Sam, could you help me clean this up?” 

“Happy to,” he said, picking up some of the stray darts scattered on the floor and plucking one from the wall where Dean had missed a shot earlier. You stashed your gear in the closet of the study, doing your best not to disturb Castiel, who of course noticed you anyway. 

“Game over?” he asked, spinning around in the desk chair. 

“We won,” you declared, grinning at Sam. 

“Congratulations,” Castiel said. “Can I help you clean up?” 

“I think we took care of it,” you said, closing the closet behind you. “But if you could feed Lola and Jiji, I’d appreciate it. Everything’s in the kitchen, the cups are in their food containers. I have to start getting dinner ready.” 

“Dinner?” Sam asked. 

“Well, I can’t serve TV dinners to all of you, now, can I?” you asked. “Tell me, Sam: are you as good in the kitchen as you are on the battlefield?”


	3. Chapter 3

You smacked Dean’s hand away from his face as he tried to sneak yet another pinch of cheese. 

“Ow,” he said, faking pain. “A man’s gotta eat, you know.” 

“This will be some pretty sad lasagna if you keep eating all the cheese,” you scolded. “Come on, you’ve still got a whole layer to go.” 

Dean sighed and continued to sprinkle the cheese over the lasagna. Jiji hopped onto a chair at the kitchen table and narrowed his eyes at him. 

“You keep an eye on him,” you said over your shoulder, giving your sauce another stir. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t let him get to the food,” Dean muttered.

“I was talking to Jiji,” you said. Dean shot you a look. 

Sam came up from the basement, a box in his hands. “It was way in back, but I found it.” 

“Thank you, Sam,” you replied in a sing-song voice. “Frozen might not be as good as homemade, but at least we’ll have garlic bread.” 

“I got used to way worse, believe me,” Sam said, beginning to search your cupboards for baking trays and aluminum foil. 

“Hey, I did pretty well, all things considered!” Dean defended, looking over from laying noodles in the baking dish. 

“Drawer beneath the oven, Sam,” you said, gesturing toward the oven with your foot as you spooned sauce over the noodles. “Now, what’s this?” 

“We were on the road a lot, so sometimes we had to get… creative when it came to food,” Sam said. 

“I must have made mac and cheese a hundred different ways,” Dean added. “I mean, they give you the noodles and that cheese powder crap, but if you don’t have milk and butter, it’s very not awesome.” 

“The first time he made it when Dad wasn’t home—” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Really, Sammy? This story?” 

Sam laughed and continued. “Our master chef here forgot to drain the pasta. We ended up with macaroni soup.” 

You gagged. “Gross.” 

“Hey, I was a kid!” Dean said. “Couldn’t have been worse than when I had to make it on that crappy motel room hot plate and almost burned the whole place down.” 

You stopped sprinkling cheese. “Excuse me?” 

Dean shrugged. “Caught the curtain on fire. Panicked a little, so I just threw the whole pot at it. Didn’t really help.” 

“Fortunately, Dad came back and got the entire curtain rod over to the shower,” Sam added. “I guess it was a good thing the smoke alarm was busted.” 

“Room was a mess, so we left the keys and split,” Dean said. 

“If I’d ever done something like that, my mom would never have let me cook again,” you said, sliding the finished lasagna into the bottom oven and setting the timer. 

“I still had to,” Dean said casually. “Not like we could just order a pizza every time Dad left us alone for days.” 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “Hunting and family don’t really go together, huh?” 

Dean’s eyes were somewhere far away. “Not the way Dad did it.” 

 

* * *

 

You were finishing up in the bathroom after Sam and Dean had used it. You knew that the mess had most likely been left by Dean, and you had to at least _try_ to keep your home nice, so you volunteered to be last in the bathroom rotation. You assumed your guests were already asleep: Castiel was on the couch, unmoving, as Jiji had curled up on his stomach for the night. You smiled to yourself. Dean had left the door to your room open just a little, but the light was already off, and you could hear him snoring softly. Sam wasn’t in the guest bedroom, though. You peered into the study, where a bright white glow was coming from the far wall. 

Carefully, you snuck into the room. Sam was asleep in front of his laptop, a site with some kind of symbols or runes on his web browser. You crept closer, attempting to inch around the office chair so you could read the screen. 

_God?_ you wondered. _Why is he researching God? And… God’s_ family? _Is such a thing even possible?_  

You leaned closer to the screen, accidentally swiveling the chair in the process. You lost your balance, catching yourself on the desk, but waking Sam with a start. 

“Y/N?” he said. 

“Sorry,” you said, taking a step back. “I saw the light in here and came to check on you.” You gestured to the screen. “Got curious.” 

“It’s okay, I just—I mean, thank you, but you don’t—” 

You sat down on the arm rest of the overstuffed chair. “Sam? What’s up?” 

Sam glanced back at the page on the screen. “A lot. Bigger than anything we’ve ever faced.” 

“You stopped the apocalypse, Sam,” you said. “You saved the world. You’ve been to hell and back. What’s bigger than that?” 

Sam’s eyes shone in the light from the laptop. “God. And his… sister.” 

You shifted down into the chair, going from sentimental to serious. The rain on the window suddenly seemed a lot louder. “Fill me in.” 

As Sam spoke, you could tell where he was avoiding giving you all the details. Whether that was because he didn’t fully trust you yet or he was trying to keep you out of the loop because of the scale of this “Darkness” thing, you weren’t entirely certain, but either way, you couldn’t fault him. 

“She’s going after Dean?” you asked after Sam was done speaking, still trying to process what he’d said. 

Sam hesitated. “In a sense. But she just… wants to destroy. _Everything._ ” 

“Is there anything I can do to help track her down?” 

Sam shook his head. “Thanks, but no. We’re doing everything we can think of. I just wanted to see if I could find out anything about…” he reached into his pocked. “About this…” he pulled an old, tarnished amulet from his pocket and held it out. “But I haven’t been able to find anything.” 

You examined the amulet. “What’s so special about this?” 

“We used it a while ago,” Sam explained. “It’s supposed to be able to track God. We— _I_ —thought that maybe he could help us fight Amara, but it hasn’t done anything in years.” 

“It looks… Egyptian, maybe?” you guessed. “I wonder if that has any significance.” 

“I’ve been down that road, but I couldn’t find anything.” 

“Where’d you get this, anyway?” 

“It’s a long story,” Sam said, tucking the amulet away again. “Most recently, though, from a motel garbage can.” 

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Someone threw this out?” 

Sam gestured toward your room. “Someone did, all right.” 

“Why would Dean toss something like this?” 

“Again, long story. But,” he added quickly, “he doesn’t know I have it, so do me a favor and don’t tell him about it?” 

You shot him a skeptical look. “You boys and your communication issues…” 

“It’s not like that,” Sam insisted. “I know how he’d react to me keeping it. He’d accuse me of being too sentimental, and he’d get angry, even though anger wasn’t really what he was feeling, and in a stupid, thoughtless gesture, he’d chuck it into some woods where I’d never be able to find it.” 

You chuckled darkly. “You’re probably right.” 

“I did keep it because I was sentimental, back then,” Sam admitted. “But now… now it could be useful. Now it could help us find the one person who might be able to… restore balance to the world. I don’t want Dean to throw it out again because _he’s_ being sentimental, you know?” 

You nodded. “I know. Don’t worry, Sam: I’ve got your back.” 

He smiled. “Thanks, Y/N. I appreciate it.” He yawned and stretched, glancing at the clock on his laptop. “Wow, I didn’t realize it was so late. We should get some sleep.” 

“Probably not a bad idea,” you said, a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. 

Sam turned off his laptop as you rose from the chair. At the threshold of the room, you paused and turned back to him. 

“Hey Sam?” 

“Hm?” 

“Thanks for trusting me with this stuff.” 

He nodded. “It’s good to have an ally.” 

“Maybe even a friend?” 

“Well, if we’re not even close enough to borrow each other’s books yet…” Sam said with a cheeky smile. 

You laughed quietly. “Good night, Sam.” 

“Night, Y/N.” 

You slipped quietly into your room, tiptoeing around Lola’s pillow and nestling into your side of your bed. Dean stirred briefly. 

“You and Sammy braiding each other’s hair?” he mumbled. 

You hit him with a pillow. “Go back to sleep.”


	4. Chapter 4

You woke to Lola nosing the inside of your elbow. 

“Hey!” you said groggily. “That’s cold!” You gave her a pat on the head and glanced at the clock on the table beside your bed. “It’s breakfast time for you, pup!” 

Lola panted happily as you made your way to the kitchen, where Dean was fixing himself breakfast. 

“Mornin’, sleepyhead,” he said. “Late night?” 

“Shut up,” you shot back. You reached for Lola’s food when Dean interrupted you. 

“Cas did that already,” he said. “Let the dog out, too. He said they told him they didn’t want to wake you up.” 

You looked down at your dog, who was looking up at you and wagging her tail. 

“That’s… nice?” you said, scritching her behind the ear. You weren’t quite sure what to make of Castiel’s ability to communicate with your pets, but if he was going to feed them, then it was one less thing you had to worry about with three extra bodies in your house. 

“Hey, tell Sam to hurry up, would you?” Dean said. “Some of us have to shower.” 

Deciding not to tell Dean about the bathroom downstairs, you shrugged and headed toward the other end of the house. Sam was just coming out of the bathroom, his hair still a little damp from a shower, his mouth foaming with toothpaste. 

“Why aren’t you brushing your teeth in the bathroom?” you asked. 

“Because the last time I left my toothbrush out in the open, it tasted like Dean’s armpit,” he replied as best he could. “Figured keeping it in my room was safer.” 

You held back a laugh. “Evidently, Dean doesn’t know about the bathroom in the basement,” you said, lowering your voice. “Second door on the left, next to the laundry room. You’re welcome to use it—hopefully that means no gross toothbrushes.” 

You were pretty sure Sam smiled, though it was a little hard to tell. “Thanks, Y/N. I’ll move my stuff down in a bit.” 

You nodded and headed back into your room to pick out your clothes for the day. A thought started to float through the back of your mind: was there any way you and Sam could prank Dean back for making Sam’s former toothbrush unusable? You decided you’d run the idea by Sam later.

 

* * *

 

As you were coming out of the bathroom, fresh from your shower and finally dressed for the day, you spotted Castiel sitting on the living room couch with Jiji. You wandered over to him and took a seat beside him. 

“Hi, Castiel,” you said softly. 

“Hello, Y/N,” he replied. 

“Did you… sleep?” You weren’t really sure how to converse with an angel just yet. It wasn’t something you had ever planned to do. 

“I rested, but I didn’t sleep,” Castiel said. 

“That sounds… boring,” you said slowly. You tapped your foot a couple of times. “Thank you for taking care of Lola and Jiji earlier.” 

“It was no trouble,” the angle assured you, continuing to stroke Jiji’s back. “Speaking with your pets is interesting.” 

“Is it?” 

“Certainly. They care for you deeply. Lola enjoys helping you on your hunts, though Jiji wishes you would take him along more often.” 

You looked over at your cat. “Does he, now?” 

Jiji flicked his tail knowingly. 

“He knows more about the supernatural than you might believe.” 

“Really? How’s that?” 

Cas finally looked over at you, and you could feel the piercing power of his blazing blue eyes. “He says you met him while you were hunting down a witch?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded as Jiji climbed over Castiel and into your lap. You began running a hand along his jet black fur. “People went missing. The best theory I could come up with was that she had some kind of insane revenge plot, because their lives were only loosely connected. I never found them, but I did do her in. Jiji here was hiding around the corner when I killed her, and came out to investigate after the fight. I figured he must’ve belonged to the witch, or someone in town, but no one claimed him, so I took him home.” 

“Those people didn’t go missing,” Castiel said. “The witch turned them into animals.” 

You stopped suddenly, beginning to connect the dots for yourself. “So… Jiji wasn’t her cat, or a stray?” 

“No,” Castiel confirmed. “Jiji used to be a human.” 

You looked down at your cat, his green eyes shining up at you. Jiji had always struck you as a particularly capable cat, but you never would have guessed that his intelligence was _actually_ human. 

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you managed eventually. “Doesn’t he want to be human again?” 

“No, he’s quite content with being a cat,” Castiel said. He looked back at Jiji for a moment. “He does want you to keep petting him though.” 

You managed a chuckle and began to comb your fingers through Jiji’s fur again. “Did he have a family?” 

“Actually, he was a hunter.” You were again taken aback by this revelation. “He had parents, and a brother, but he’s sure they’re safer with him out of their lives: the people that witch turned to animals were his friends.” 

“You didn’t want anyone else coming after the people you care about,” you said to Jiji, a hint of familiarity in your voice: there was a reason you lived far away from your own friends and family. “And I guess there’s less of a chance he’ll get taken out the way hunters usually do.” 

“That’s the way he sees it, too.” 

You looked back up at Castiel. “Does he like the name Jiji? I can call him by his real name if he’d prefer that.” 

Castiel shook his head. “That’s not necessary. He’s fine with the name you picked for him.” 

A brief smile flashed across your lips. “Well, that’s good…” You brushed Jiji’s cheek with one finger, and he nuzzled your hand. “I just hope he’s happy.” 

“He’s very happy, Y/N,” Castiel assured you. “You take very good care of him. He’s becoming more and more like a cat over time—forgetting the parts of him that are still somewhat human—but he’ll never forget that.” 

You kissed the top of Jiji’s head, and a warm, happy feeling spread through you. “Thank you, Castiel,” you said. “I can only learn so much about him from the vet.” You looked at Jiji, purring contentedly at your words. “I always knew he was special, but you definitely confirmed it.” 

“I’m pleased I could share,” Castiel said with a grin. 

“So, is there anything else I should know about my pets?” 

“Well, Lola did tell me something about an incident a couple years ago…”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y/F/M = your favorite musical. If you don't have one, just pretend.

“Hey, Y/N?” 

You looked up from your book. “Yeah, Sam?” 

“How do you work your TV?” 

Slightly alarmed, you threw your book down on your bed, startling Jiji, who had been sleeping next to you. You skidded out into the living room as Sam juggled remotes in his hands, flipping to the channel for your DVD player. 

“Got it,” he said. “Wait, what’s playing?” 

Dean looked over from the couch as the title screen for Y/F/M danced across the screen. 

“No, really?” he said, shooting you a dubious look. “ _Musicals_ , Y/N?” 

“Hey, they’re fun to watch every now and again,” you defended, swiping the remote from Sam and muting the TV. “Certainly breaks up the dismal banality of hunting.” 

Sam looked understanding, while Dean's expression was more along the lines of confused. 

“The what?” he asked. You rolled your eyes, and Sam chuckled. 

“Big words confuse him,” he said. “Dumb it down a little.” 

Dean looked insulted. “Hey, just because I didn’t go to _college_ like you did… nerd…” 

You held back a smile. “Hunting sucks. Musicals are fun. Get over yourself.” 

Castiel entered the living room, hair a little damp from the rain. “Lola’s been outside,” he said gruffly. He stared in confusion at the muted television as he removed his trench coat, hanging it over a chair to dry. “I’m confused: isn’t the point of musicals such as this one to view them with the accompanying sound?” 

“We were going to watch something else,” Sam said. “But Y/N here stole the remote.” 

“Admitting to the Great and Powerful Winchesters that I occasionally indulge in musicals was not in my plans for the day,” you admitted. “Besides, you guys don’t really want to watch this, do you?” 

“Actually, I remember seeing this,” Sam said. “I don’t remember where. Might be fun to watch it again.” 

“I’d like to watch it as well,” Castiel added. “Perhaps it will help me better comprehend the references these two make.” 

“Not likely,” Sam shot back with a mischievous grin. 

“Seriously? We’re doing this?” Dean remarked from the sofa as Lola jumped up beside him. 

You couldn’t help but find amusement in his displeasure. “I guess we are,” you said, unmuting the television. “Hit play, Sam!” 

“On it!” 

Castiel watched intently, Sam with a hint of far-off recognition and a little sadness, and Dean pretended to hate every minute—though you caught him tapping his foot to a couple of the more upbeat musical numbers—as the movie progressed. At some point, the elder Winchester stood up, walked across the room decisively, grabbed the remote for the DVD player, and hit “pause.” 

“Hey!” Sam complained. 

“What gives?” you asked, glancing up at him. “My favorite song’s coming up!” 

“I know what this needs,” Dean declared, glancing around the room. “We need a proper movie-marathoning pillow fort.” 

“Because _that_ will make it manlier,” you said, rolling your eyes. 

Dean shot you a look, then headed for your linen closet. “You got any extra sheets around here?” 

“They’re in there somewhere,” you called back. “You gotta work for it!” 

“I’ll go get some pillows from my room,” Sam said. There was more than a hint of excitement in his voice, and it was infectious. 

With a little prompting, you managed to get Lola off the couch, and stripped it of its cushions. Dean arrived with several sheet sets, and Sam brought over an armful of pillows from the guest bedroom closet—you didn’t remember even _having_ so many. Dean made quick work of the materials, crafting a solid, fluffy fortress. 

“Now _that’s_ a pillow fort,” Dean said, admiring his work with pride. 

“Sorry to wreck your bed though, Cas,” Sam observed. 

“I guess we can put it back tonight?” you suggested. 

“And wreck this masterpiece? No way!” Dean exclaimed. “Cas doesn’t need sleep.” 

“Doesn’t mean he shouldn’t have a place to rest,” you insisted. 

“He can use the pillow fort!” 

Castiel examined the construct. “It does look comfortable.” 

Dean’s expression grew smug. “See? What’d I tell you? It’s all good.” 

You sighed. “Let’s just get back to the movie.” 

By the end of the film, you and Sam were singing and dancing in the middle of the living room, Dean watching happily from his pillow fort and occasionally adding backup, whether or not it was actually present in the song. You had all had a beer or two, and although the storm had turned the outside dark and dreary, the atmosphere in your home was warm and relaxed. 

“See?” you said breathlessly, flopping back into a chair. “Wasn’t that great?” 

“Okay, okay, that was less horrible than I thought it’d be,” Dean admitted. 

Castiel looked both amused and bewildered. “Do humans do this often?” 

You laughed. “Probably not when musicals are involved.” You looked around the room. “So… anyone up for round two?”


	6. Chapter 6

That _sound_. 

You _hated_ that sound. 

Groggily, you opened one eye to check the time on the clock. 

2:36 a.m. 

You were going to kill him. 

You swung your feet out of bed, fully prepared to annihilate Dean Winchester for waking you up by opening that creaky door. Hadn’t you _told_ him about that door? Hadn’t you _warned_ him? What was he even doing awake? 

You shuffled into the kitchen, where Dean was searching through one of the drawers in your fridge. 

“Dean Winchester, what the _hell_ are you doing?” Your voice was an angry whisper, but it was enough to send a startled shiver down Dean’s spine as he turned around. 

“Damn, that door really _is_ loud.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question!” You walked up to him, your height difference more apparent when you attempted—and failed—to stand nose-to-nose with him. “Didn’t I _warn_ you about waking me up?” 

“Sor-ry,” he said, pressing himself back against the closed refrigerator door. “I couldn’t sleep, and… I just…” he looked down. “I know I kinda sprung this whole thing on you, and I wanted to do something to say that I was… sorry? Grateful? Something. So I thought maybe I’d make you something. I thought I saw a pie crust in the fridge earlier, and I remembered you telling me what your favorite was, so I thought…” 

You backed off, giving Dean his space. “Oh… well… you could’ve gone through the other door.” 

“Didn’t want to step on Lola. Thought I’d chance it.” 

You allowed yourself a slight smile. “Thanks, Dean. That’s surprisingly sweet.” 

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.” 

“Wasn’t planning on it, don’t worry.” You walked over to your oven and set the temperature, retrieving your old cookbook and a pie plate from the cupboard above it. “The box is on the top shelf.” 

“What would I have done without you?” 

“You would probably have made a mess of my kitchen, looking for everything.” You retrieved and laid out the ingredients for your favorite pie. You always kept them on hand, somewhere in your home, even if hunting didn’t leave you much time to make it yourself. 

“Do me a favor and grab the big whisk from that drawer, would you?” you asked as Dean set the pie crusts on the counter. 

“What am I, your servant?” 

“Whine any more and you might not get any,” you said. 

Dean turned to you. “What?” 

You had been pulling a bottle of wine you’d been saving from the cupboard above you stove. You held it up to Dean. “Wine.” 

He chuckled as he retrieved the whisk, and you poured two generous glasses. “What’s cooking without wine?” 

“Isn’t this what old ladies on those dumb cooking shows do?” 

You handed a glass to Dean. “How would _you_ know?” 

Dean suddenly looked nervous. “No reason.” 

“Well then, here’s to being old,” you said, holding up your glass for a toast. 

“But not looking it,” Dean added, clinking his glass against yours. 

“Maybe not me,” you said. “You definitely look older.” 

“I was undercover when we met! _You_ looked like a high school brat.” 

You elbowed him with your free arm. “Shut up. You liked what you saw.” 

“Never said I didn’t.” 

“You tease.” 

As you and Dean began to measure out ingredients, your mind wandered back to the day you first met him. You were both undercover, independently hunting the same vampire nest. You had both followed a trail to a record store, where you pretended to be browsing to scope out the place and listen in on conversations. You’d bumped into each other in the classic rock section as Dean was browsing Led Zeppelin cassettes and you were looking into Def Leppard vinyls. Dean criticized Def Leppard as not being “real” rock, and said you had no taste in music. You told him all Zeppelin songs sounded the same, and told him to listen to something more tolerable. You purchased one another your favorite albums by your respective favorite groups, and by the time you’d finished arguing—and the man behind the counter had insisted the two of you should get a room—you looked around and realized that the person you had both been there to follow had come and gone. 

You met up again in the thick of the nest, where you’d sliced off the head of a young, bloodthirsty vampire who had backed Dean into a corner. Together, you cleaned out the nest and even managed to keep someone from town from becoming their dinner. Dean gave you his number—out of respect or attraction, you weren’t quite sure—and you hadn’t seen him since, although you’d called one another for a consult on a case or two. That had been years ago, though: ever since, you’d relied on stories of their antics to know that Dean was still alive. 

You looked up from your reminiscing when you noticed Dean humming. 

Def Leppard. 

Feeling oddly victorious and somewhat nostalgic, you placed the completed pie in the oven and set the timer. Dean took a seat at the table and refilled his wine glass, offering to top yours off, too. 

“You know, alcohol doesn’t help you sleep,” you said, taking a seat beside him and holding your glass out to him. 

“Are you kidding me? I can sleep for _hours_ after a few glasses of this,” he insisted. 

“And how do you feel in the morning?” 

Dean rocked an open hand back and forth. 

“Mmhmm,” you nodded. “Exactly what I’m talking about.” 

Dean shook his head and took another sip of wine. 

You pulled your chair a little closer to his. “So tell me, Dean… really, are you okay?” 

“What’re you talking about? Of course I’m—” 

“Cut the crap. Sam told me about the Darkness, and the Mark of Cain, and how it turned you into…” you hesitated, your eyes flickering down to the table before locking with his. “How are you doing?” 

Dean sighed. “It’s hard, some days. Sometimes I still feel it there, you know? Almost like they never cast the spell to remove it, like if I touched my arm, I’d feel it. Like that thing people get after they lose an arm or something.” 

You nodded as Dean brushed his fingertips along his arm, and swirled his glass a little. 

“Probably sounds stupid, huh?” 

“No, Dean,” you said quietly. “That was… a horrible thing for you to bear. Something like that… magic like that… it has to change you.” 

Dean looked down into his glass. “Sometimes I don’t know what that means.” 

“It doesn’t have to be a bad change,” you assured him. “It’s up to you.” 

“You sound just like Sam.” 

You chuckled quietly. “Do I?” 

“Yeah. He’s always saying stuff like that.” 

“Sounds like a smart guy. Maybe it’s time you listened.” 

“I do… most of the time.” Dean took a long, slow drink before a smile spread over his face. “Did I ever tell you about when Sammy lost his shoe?” 

You grinned and shook your head. “No, I don’t think you did.” 

You traded stories of your most memorable hunts—although Dean’s were decidedly more unbelievable than yours—until the timer on your counter dinged happily. 

“Time for pie?” Dean asked with a giddy smile. 

“Only if you want to burn your mouth,” you said, grabbing potholders and taking the golden-brown pie out of the oven. “And don’t give me the ‘I’ve been to hell, I can handle the heat’ line.” 

“When did I use that before?” 

“Remember the time you called me about whether or not that thing about cows in New Mexico having their blood drained was a case and I told you to let someone else take care of it?” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh. _That_.” 

“Yes, _that_ , mister I-have-to-wear-at-least-two-layers-at-all-times.” 

“Hey, don’t trash the plaid,” he said defensively. “I guess I’ll just have to come up with new lines to use on you.” 

“Oh yeah?” you teased. “They’d better be better than the ones you tried on me at that record store.” 

Dean scoffed. “You were loving every second of it.” 

“Because it was so bad!” 

“I could’ve taken you home that night!” 

“Then why didn’t you?” 

“I was covered in vamp blood, and—you saying you wanted me to?” 

“I’m saying your pickup lines sucked, Casanova,” you said. “And, for the record, guys after showers are really… _steamy_.” 

“Now look who’s got the lame lines.” 

“At least mine are supposed to be,” you shrugged. “Just sayin’, if you’d played your cards right, a little vamp blood wouldn’t have stopped you.” 

“You got dirty in the last twelve years,” Dean said, undertones of something naughtier just audible beneath his obvious approval. 

“Actually, as I recall, _you_ were the one who got dirty.” 

“Only because I got there first.” 

“And who saved your neck from that vamp?” 

“He was just a kid, I could’ve taken him.” 

“You were on your ass in a corner, _cowering_.” 

“Dean Winchester does not ‘cower.’” 

“Does ‘trembling’ suit your manliness better?” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Can we cut the pie yet?” 

“Impatient, are we?” Dean crossed his arms in response, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Okay. See if you can find some whipped cream. I’ll get the plates.” 

“Where’m I lookin’?” 

“There should be a can in the fridge.” 

“What, Ms. Martha Stewart isn’t making fresh whipped cream? I’m shocked.” 

“What am I, your mom?” you asked. “You’ll take a damn can and you’ll like it.” 

“I like a girl who’s pushy,” he said, walking up behind you as you laid a slice of pie on a plate. 

You glanced over your shoulder. “Good, because we’re sharing.” 

“Say again?” 

“I’m only going to have a couple bites,” you said, slowly pulling the can of whipped cream from his hand. “Dean Winchester shares his pie, doesn’t he?” 

“Not usually,” he said as you swirled a dollop of whipped cream on top of the pie. 

“Well, make an exception…” You handed him a fork. “Just this once.” 

“Just this once,” he echoed, taking the fork and scooping up the first bite of pie. He closed his eyes and let out a hum of pleasure. “This is amazing. You’d better only have a few bites.” 

You tasted the pie yourself. You’d made it a dozen times before, but it had never been quite this good. 

“This is pretty good,” you admitted. 

“We make a good team,” Dean said, reaching for another forkful for pie. “On a hunt, in the kitchen… maybe in other places?” 

“Is this one of those new lines?” 

“Maybe. Is it working?” 

You laughed. “We do make a good team, I’ll give you that.” You had another bite of pie, but realized that if you had more, you’d be up all night as your stomach tried to process it, so you handed the plate to Dean. “I’m all done. You can finish it.” 

“Well, that line must’ve been good for something,” he said with a boyish grin. “Thanks, Y/N.” 

Dean wolfed down the rest of the slice as you wrapped up the pie and put it away, storing the whipped cream in the fridge and putting your dirty dishes in the sink. You’d take care of them tomorrow. Just as you were wiping off the counter, Dean approached you with a dirty plate and fork. 

“In the sink,” you said, tossing your paper towel. You turned to Dean, noticing a splotch of whipped cream above his upper lip. A smile broke across your face. 

“What?” 

You pointed to the same spot above your own mouth. “Whipped cream.” 

Dean tried and failed to lick it off, and you sighed. 

“Here, let me.” You wiped the whipped cream off his lip, but as your eyes caught his, your hand lingered. Slowly, he reached up to grab your hand, and mouthed the whipped cream from your finger, his tongue pressing lightly against your skin. He brought your entwined hands down to your side and stepped closer to you. 

“You want to know how I’ve been?” he said quietly, practically breathing the words into your mouth. “I missed you, Y/N.” 

Your lips grazed his. “I missed you too, Dean.” 

Dean pressed into the kiss, one hand on the small of your back pulling you closer to him, the other hand leaving yours and traveling up your side to cup your face, tracing your body along the way. Your heart raced, head spinning, as you buried your fingers in his hair, all but consumed with the taste of Dean and pie and wine. 

… _Wine_. 

How much had the two of you had to drink? 

You pulled back at the thought and leaned up slightly to rest your forehead against Dean’s. You wondered if this had been brought on by nostalgia and alcohol or if there had been substance to that kiss. You needed to sleep on it. 

Maybe you both needed to sleep on it. 

“Maybe I should go to sleep,” you said softly. “You might want to think about trying to get some sleep, too.” 

“I’ll… try,” he said, not pulling back from you. You kissed his cheek gently before walking back into your room, closing the creaky door almost all the way behind you. 

Yes, you were tired. “Exhausted” might have been a better word. But as you flopped down in your bed, still a little breathless, you wondered how you were going to sleep after _that_.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, you woke feeling particularly refreshed. You were pretty sure the tingly buzz you were feeling was an aftereffect of your kiss with Dean and _not_ a side effect of the alcohol you’d had, but the dull ache above your left temple probably was. After you’d run your morning bathroom routine and gotten dressed for the day, you went out to the kitchen to let a dancing Lola outside. Passing the sink—the _empty_ sink—you found a sticky note. 

 _Done. Thanks._

_-D_  

You smiled. So that’s why he hadn’t gone to bed after you. A whimper from Lola turned you back to the door, and you jogged over to let her outside. 

You watched her run around the backyard, undeterred by the heavy rain. Even the thunder didn’t usually bother her. She gallivanted freely around the yard… and right into a deep, murky puddle in one corner of the yard, knee deep in mud. 

“Lola!” you called. That corner of the yard was a garden, when you had the time to maintain one, but lately it had just been dirt, hard and dry. Lola would occasionally dig in it, and you were pretty sure she’d buried something there at some point, but she usually stayed away from it. At least you could brush dirt out of her fur. Mud was another story. 

Of all the days… 

“Lola, get out of that!” 

Sam came up behind you. “Y/N? What is it?” 

You gestured toward your muddy dog as you stepped outside, ever grateful for the metal awning over the patio. “Now I’m going to have to bring out the hose.” You looked up at Sam. “I hate having to do that.” 

Sam followed you outside, closing the storm door behind him. “Need any help?” 

“That would be nice, actually, if you don’t mind,” you admitted as a dripping wet Lola came bounding up to you, the smell of wet dog strong in the air. Sam attempted to grip her slick collar, and she shook, splattering mud all over both of you. 

“Hey!” you said, trying to shield yourself with your arm. 

“It’s fine,” Sam called. “I’ve been covered in worse.” 

You laughed as you uncoiled the garden hose. “Still,” you said, turning on the spigot. “Not fun. Try to hold her still.” 

You set the hose attachment to a firm spray and began to hose the mud from Lola’s fur, trying your best not to soak Sam in the process. When Lola was rinsed off, you took aim at the deck, spraying the mud away from the house and onto the lawn. 

“I can take her if you run over to the garage and grab me some towels,” you said, grabbing Lola’s collar. 

“Be right back.” Sam jogged to the garage and stepped inside, and you got face-to-face with your dog. 

“Silly dog, you know you’re not supposed to be over there,” you said, looking into her sky blue eyes. You petted her wet head as she panted at you, then licked your cheek. “Ha, I love you too. Even if you’re a stinker sometimes.” 

Sam, now drenched from the rain, came running back with an armful of towels. 

“Hopefully they didn’t get too wet,” he panted. 

“Feels good to me,” you said, grabbing two of them and beginning to dry Lola off. You and Sam worked quickly, and Lola was only damp by the time you ushered her into the house. She shook off in the kitchen and proceeded to the living room. 

Dean looked up from his food. “Well, Sammy, I didn’t know you liked getting dirty.” 

“Shut up,” Sam said, waving his brother off. 

“Here, give me the towels and go change,” you said. “You’re drenched. I’ll get a load of laundry going.” 

“Thanks, Y/N,” Sam said, handing you the soiled towels he’d carried in and heading for his room. You caught Dean’s eyes before descending the stairs. 

“Morning,” you said. “Sleep well?” 

“More or less,” he said. “Probably the alcohol and the sugar.” 

“From the pie?” 

Dean smirked. “That too.” 

You rolled your eyes. “And the _cheese?_ ” 

“Come on, that was a good one.” 

“If you say so,” you said as you proceeded downstairs. You tossed the towels into a pile on the floor—those could wait. Some of Sam and Dean’s other laundry was in a bag resting against the wall, so you dumped it out and threw the more soiled items into your washer. 

Fortunately, they mostly wore darks. 

Realizing how wet and dirty you were yourself, you stripped off your own clothing and put on the robe that hung in the downstairs bathroom, grateful that you hadn’t moved it upstairs like you had planned to. You heard Sam’s footsteps behind you as he joined you in the laundry room, holding a ball of clothes. 

“In the washer,” you said, pulling the knob to start the machine and adding detergent to the running water. Sam tossed his clothes in and you closed the lid after them, sighing and hoping that hosing down Lola would be the hardest part of the day. 

“You good?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“By the way, I wanted to thank you again for letting me use that bathroom,” Sam said, nodding in its direction. “It’s been nice having some privacy.” 

Your idea from yesterday flashed through your mind again. “Sam,” you began. “Have you ever thought of pranking Dean back?” 

Sam laughed. “All the time,” he said. “We get into wars a lot. Usually we end up calling a truce before it gets too out of hand.” 

“‘Usually’?” 

“Usually.” 

“With what you said the other day, I was thinking…” A mischievous smile crept across your face. “What if we put our heads together and pull a prank on Dean? I doubt he’d see it coming here.” 

Sam looked thoughtful. “I like it,” he said finally. “We’ll come up with something.” 

“Great,” you said. “But first I think maybe you need a shower.” Your eyes flickered up to the mud caked in his hair. 

Sam touched the spot slowly. “That’s probably a good idea,” he conceded. 

“And thanks for helping with Lola,” you added, following him up the stairs. 

“Don’t mention it,” he said, making a beeline for the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

 You and Sam had been locked in the study for hours. It was possible that Castiel and Dean were getting worried, but Sam had mentioned something about lore and research to them earlier. 

They didn’t know, however, that you were researching pranks. You were limited by what you had in the house, so some of the best ideas you had had to be passed over. 

You had, however, finally come up with a plan: a red Jolly Rancher inside the showerhead. Simple but effective. It would coat Dean with sticky sweet color, and he’d have to stand there as you cleaned the dissolving treat out so he could shower properly. 

You opened the door to Dean, ready to knock. 

“Saved me the trouble,” he said. “Did you know you have perfectly good beef in the fridge that’s about to go bad?” 

“Got it before the storm hit,” you shrugged. “I guess I could do burgers inside tonight if you—” 

“Inside? What, on one of those griddle things?” Dean said. “No, no, no. If we’re gonna do burgers, we’re gonna do ‘em right.” 

“The rain might have eased up a little, Dean, but it’s still pretty bad out there.” 

“So? Your grill’s under that awning, right?” 

You and Sam exchanged looks. 

“Well, I guess if _you’re_ volunteering to do it…” you sighed. 

“Damn right I am,” Dean said. “Just sit back and let me do the work.” 

“I think I can manage that,” you said. “In the meantime, I’m going to shower. Might as well, before Dean gets it all gross after dinner.” 

“Hey, I’m not that bad!” Dean called, mock-offended. 

Your bowl of candy was on a table in the living room. Sitting right on top, like a crown jewel, was a red Jolly Rancher. You plucked it from its place and slipped into the bathroom to shower, allowing yourself a private smile as you set up your scheme afterward. 

As you left the bathroom, an intoxicating aroma drifted past you. 

 _He can’t actually be_ that _good at cooking, right?_ You headed for the kitchen, where a moderately-wet Dean was setting a plate of hamburger patties on the counter. Lola was staring up at him with pleading eyes, and even Jiji tossed him a look every now and again. 

“Well, Dean, looks like you managed to…" you paused and broke into a grin. "Grill up a storm?"

“Your puns make me sad,” he said, taking plates from the cupboard and handing you one. 

“Chef’s choice,” you said. 

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Dean flipped a burger onto his plate. “This bad boy right here is all mine.” 

You laughed and followed Dean’s example, Sam and Castiel soon joining you at the dining table at the end of the living room for dinner. 

“Cheers to Grill Master Dean Winchester for this bountiful feast,” you said, taking your place with your plate and a beer. 

“I’ll drink to that,” Dean said, raising his bottle. 

“To carrying on,” Sam declared. 

“Even through the storm,” you added. 

As if to prove your point—or perhaps to join in your toast—a clap of thunder echoed through the house. Jiji hissed his disapproval, and Lola gave a short bark of agreement. The four humans around the table shared a laugh as rain pounded against the window outside, unable to dampen the mood within.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean mimics Cassandra Pentaghast's "disgusted noise."

You sat outside the bathroom door, listening intently. The water had only been running for a minute or two, but you were certain it wouldn’t be much longer. 

Sam walked up beside you, something enclosed in his fist. “Anything yet?” 

You shook your head. “Soon though.” 

Sam grinned and opened his hand. “Look what I found.” 

You glanced down. “Sam, you’re a genius!” He had managed to locate your craft supplies, just as Dean had, and had found quite possibly the only tube of glitter that had ever been present in your house. 

This was going to be good. 

Inside the bathroom, you heard the shower stop. 

“What the hell is this?” Dean’s voice asked no one in particular. “Ugh!” 

You exchanged an amused look with Sam, then motioned for him to hand the glitter to you. You poured about half of it into your hand and gave the rest back to him, flecks floating gently to the ground as you passed it back. 

“You’re never going to be able to clean this up,” he remarked, looking down at the hardwood floor. 

“Totally worth it,” you whispered back. 

Sam took a step back from the door, guiding you back with his hand. With a barely-visible puff of steam, the bathroom door opened and Dean stepped forward, a towel around his waist, his hair in stiff peaks where it wasn’t sticking to his face and a new, pinky-red hue covering his skin. 

“Y/N?” he shouted. “I think the shower’s cursed.” 

With Sam in the lead, you stepped out from your shadowed cover. Sam sprinkled the glitter over his brother’s head as you opened your hand and blew it at him, reminiscent of blowing a kiss. Dean stood still, his eyes closed, his expression somewhere between calm anger and resignation. 

You and Sam cheered and clapped a glittery high-five as you admired your work. Dean took a corner of the towel and bent down to wipe his eyes before glaring at you both. 

“You planned this?” 

“It was Y/N’s idea, actually.” 

“Not the glitter—that was all Sam.” 

Dean shook his head. “Either of you going to help me with the shower or what?” 

“One second,” Sam said slowly, pulling his phone from his back pocket and snapping a photo. “There we go. He’s all yours, Y/N.” 

“Make sure I get a copy of that!” you called over your shoulder as Sam retreated into his room. 

“I thought you were better than this,” Dean grumbled as he sat down on the closed toilet lid, shedding glitter as he moved. 

“I’d never miss a chance to annoy you,” you said, throwing him a wink as you took the showerhead from the wall and began to take it apart. 

“Really? You’re gonna throw that in my face?” 

Facing away from him as you rinsed out the red, gooey mess, you continued to beam with pride. “Well,” you said. “Now you are… how does that song go? ‘Hot, sticky sweet, from your head to your feet.’” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” you said, rinsing the shower clean of residue. “I heard you humming it last night.” 

You heard Dean grumble behind you before he seemed to regain his coolness. “All I heard was I’m hot and sweet,” he said suavely, “and that’s good enough for me.” 

You sighed and hung the showerhead back in its place. “Just clean yourself up, Winchester.” 

Dean shot you a smirk—which might have been sexier if he hadn’t been covered in glitter—as you left the room, closing the door behind you. Sam was showing Castiel the photo on his phone, still reveling in his victory. You smiled as you pulled your vacuum from the closet. Sam was right: this was going to be impossible to clean up, but the look on Dean’s face had absolutely been worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, that song is ["Pour Some Sugar on Me"](https://youtu.be/i1HIbCE2W9k) by Def Leppard. First Def Leppard song I ever encountered and still my favorite. ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might get more T+ toward the end. That being said...

You looked up from your laptop as Dean entered your room, clothed only from the waist down. 

“Are you going for the sexy pool boy look now?” you asked. “Generally I associate you with lumberjack-slash-mountain-man, but…” 

“Can’t find my shirt,” Dean said with a laugh. 

You held back a grin. “I think your shirt may be slightly… occupied.” 

Dean followed your gaze to Lola’s pet bed, where she had curled up on top of one of his button-ups. 

“Well, at least it’s being put to good use,” Dean sighed, throwing his duffel bag onto the bed next to you and beginning to rifle through it for something moderately clean. 

“You know, you have clean, dry clothes downstairs,” you said. 

“Yeah, but then I’d have to fold laundry.” 

You raised an eyebrow at him. “So?” 

“Don’t you think I’ve been through enough today?” 

You shook your head in defeat and went back to scanning the news for anything that might look like a case. You found a headline that piqued your interest when your screen went dark. The whole room went dark. 

“Ghost?” Dean asked. 

“More likely the power’s out,” you said, groping around on your bedside table for a flashlight. “It happens a lot. There are some candles and one of those lantern things in the closet next to the study—wanna go grab them for me?” 

Even in the darkness, Dean's eyeroll was so obvious it was nearly audible.

“Unless you want to go out there and figure out my finicky generator…” you said. 

Dean swiped the flashlight from you. “Have it your way.” 

As you took the flashlight from one of the kitchen drawers, you heard Dean talking to Sam and Castiel, likely explaining the situation and recruiting their help. He could be difficult, but Dean usually came through in the end. You grabbed your coat from the back of one of the chairs and braced yourself for the storm. 

The wind almost knocked you off your feet when you stepped foot out of your house. You cursed a couple times, then scurried across the backyard to retrieve the gas can from the garage. Lightning illuminated the sky behind you, and thunder boomed overhead a few seconds later. 

You were pretty sure you’d heard the radio host say three days, but shouldn’t the storm be letting up a little by now? 

It took several minutes and precisely the proper position, but your generator finally seemed to accept the fact that it needed to work. You plugged an extension cord into the outlet and ran it inside, plugging the refrigerator into the other end. It immediately hummed back to life, and you sighed with relief as you slid your dripping coat off and hung it back on the chair. 

Sam found you in the kitchen. “Everything okay?” 

“I think so,” you said. “But until we get power back, we need to plug into the generator. I’d rather keep the fridge running though, so try not to use it unless it’s an emergency?” 

Sam nodded. “We’ll be good, don’t worry.” 

“Where are Dean and Castiel?” 

“Cas is in the living room with Lola and Jiji,” he said. “And last I saw, Dean was setting up lighting in your room.” 

“Thanks,” you sighed, pulling off your shoes and heading into your room. 

You hadn’t quite been expecting what you saw. 

Little clusters of candles were set up in a couple spots around the room, though it was still mostly dark. Dean was lighting the last one when you entered. 

“Damn, almost ready,” he said. You were suddenly very aware that he was still bare-chested, even though his shirt had been freed from Lola’s paws. “I wanted to be splayed across the bed when you came back in.” 

You closed the door behind you. “What’s all this about?” 

Dean didn’t answer. Instead, he slid a record out of its case and put it onto a turntable, turning it on and setting the needle. 

“What? But the power’s—” you started. 

Dean held a finger to his lips, then gestured to the turntable. “Battery-powered.” 

It had been so long since you’d used it, you’d completely forgotten it didn’t need to be plugged in. Of course, it wouldn’t last very long on batteries, but it was certainly convenient for tonight. 

As the record crackled to life, you held back a laugh. Of course Dean would pick _this_ record, of all the ones you had. But tonight he wasn’t drunk. Tonight, you knew for certain that there was intent behind every one of his actions. 

“I take it you remember this album?” he asked. 

“Eh, more or less,” you said. “All the songs sound the same, so they kind of blur together.” 

“Ooh, cheap shot,” Dean said, faking a wince as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “But it’s okay.” 

“Oh?” 

“Because I know you’re lying.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“That sleeve is so beat up it’s ready to fall apart!” he said. “They only get like that from use.” 

You grinned. “You gave it to me. I had to listen to it at least once, even if I hated it, right?” 

Dean chuckled. “Right.” 

He pulled you in for a kiss, and you felt the muscles in his back tense at your touch. Your other hand reached up to run through his hair, still slightly damp from his shower. You twisted it in your fingers as Dean’s mouth moved to your neck. You could feel his breath on your skin as he kissed it, teeth occasionally grazing your flesh, like he was hungry for you, but holding himself back. 

“Dean,” you breathed. “Hang on…” 

Dean leaned back, only slightly, his green eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “Everything okay?” 

You nodded. “It would just be easier…” In one fluid motion, you stripped off your top and dangled it from your fingers. “Without this.” 

“I like the way you think, Y/N,” Dean said, his tone a mix of approval and longing. You flung the article of clothing in some direction—you didn’t particularly care which—and leaned back into Dean. He guided you back toward the wall, slowly, your faces almost touching, so close you were practically breathing each other’s breath. He took your hands in his, kissing each of them before bringing your arms up above your head. He held them together by the wrists with one hand as he used the other to brace himself against the wall. Your skin stuck to his as your bodies pressed together, his heartbeat strong against your chest. His kisses became more urgent, the sounds he was making coming from low in his throat. 

You broke Dean’s grip on your wrists and pushed him toward the bed, the cold emptiness of his absence hitting your skin as he sat down. He groaned and closed his eyes as you straddled him, sliding a hand down his chest to the waistband of his jeans. You slid a finger under it, your skin grazing his, tracing a line from the zipper to his hip and back again, a shiver of pleasure and anticipation running down Dean’s spine. 

“Quit playin’ with me,” he sighed. 

“But I like games,” you whispered, your lips grazing Dean’s ear. “They’re _fun._ ” 

“You are pure evil.” 

“Maybe.” You undid the button and zipper barely holding his jeans closed and planted a kiss where his neck met his shoulder, rolling your hips against his. “But you _love_ it.” 

That broke Dean. He gripped your legs and flipped you over onto your back, his eyes devouring you from above as he ripped off your pants and caressed your thigh. Your skin tingled, your hair stood on end, and a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan escaped your lips when he began kissing his way up your body, starting just below your navel. You panted his name when you felt him press into you, kisses hot and wet against your skin. 

“Dean,” you repeated. He looked up at you, deep green eyes staring into yours. Here, tonight, with the candles and the rain and Led Zeppelin in the background… this was perfect. You weren’t sure how long Dean had been planning this, but for you, this moment had been twelve years in the making. You pulled him into a slow, longing kiss. 

You weren’t waiting any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting while I figured this chapter out. :) I don't usually write scenes that get hot because I'm actually pretty bad at them, so I wanted to try to make it feel as natural as I could. Hopefully that worked and you enjoyed it! No actual sex because that would get tricky (since I'm trying to be nonspecific about whether "you" are male or female), but hey, if you want to get creative and write something inspired by this chapter, go for it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y/F/B = your favorite book (as a reminder)

When you woke the next morning, you opened your eyes slowly, as if moving any faster would somehow break the moment. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but something was different. Usually, “different” meant “dangerous,” but this didn’t feel like the kind of “different” you were used to. The room was quiet, save for Dean’s steady breathing. You turned your head to look at him, his eyelids flickering just slightly as he slept, sunbeams casting a warm glow over his bare skin. 

… _Sun?_  

You looked up at your closed curtains, realizing that there was light streaming through the gaps between them. At first, this added to the wonderfulness of the morning—but with a sinking heart, you realized that if the storm was over, it would be back to work. 

For both you and Dean. 

You returned your gaze to him, trying to memorize the way his lips parted just slightly as he slept, the perfect curve of his back beneath the sheet, the intoxicating scent of his skin… every little detail that added up to Dean. 

A slight smile flickered across your lips. It had been a long time since you’d felt this way: satisfied, rejuvenated, maybe even encouraged. Hunting was taxing, and it was as though Dean knew just how to make it all go away, if only for a night. 

Why couldn’t you stay like this forever? 

Beside you, Dean’s eyes opened, and almost instinctively, he pulled you closer to him and gently kissed your forehead. 

“Morning,” he said, stroking his fingers through your hair. 

“You too,” you replied. “How’d you sleep?” 

He thought for a second. “Let’s just say I had a _very_ good night.” 

“Really? Never would’ve guessed.” 

Dean chuckled and brought his hand down to the small of your back, the warmth of his embrace soothing and safe. 

“I think the storm’s stopped,” you said softly. “I guess you’ll be on your way then?” 

He looked at you, his eyes glimmering with an emotion you couldn’t place. “You want me to leave?” 

Your words caught in your throat. You didn’t want to admit that you didn’t, but the tone of his voice had sounded vulnerable somehow, like he wanted your honest answer. 

“I want time to stand still,” you said, dodging the question as best you could. “I want to stay here, just like this.” 

Dean kissed you, and you ran your fingers lightly along the stubble at his jaw. You turned him onto his back and entwined your fingers with his. 

“You don’t…” you began, tracing his collarbone with one finger of your free hand. “You don’t have to go right away, do you?” Dean cocked his head slightly. “I mean, if you were, say, still sleeping… no one would wake you up?” 

“Here? Probably not.” A naughty smirk pulled at the corner of Dean’s mouth. “Why?” 

“Well, we had a late night,” you began, kissing his jawline. “No one would blame you if you were to spend a little extra time in bed this morning.” 

Dean began to moan, and you pressed a finger to his lips. 

“We’re supposed to be sleeping in, though, remember?” you repeated, moving to his neck and whispering: “We need to be quiet.” 

Dean’s breathing was getting heavier, but he nodded in agreement. Your lips crashed into his again, and you were grateful that—for the moment—he wasn’t going anywhere.

 

* * *

 

It was early afternoon by the time the four of you had the Impala packed and ready to go—with a generous helping of homemade pie for the road, of course. You said your goodbyes to Castiel—after he had given your pets some farewell scritches—and Sam, who you gave your copy of Y/F/B on the condition that he take care of it and tell you what he thought of it when he was done. He promised, and, after a warm hug, walked down the path toward the Impala. 

“So, back to business?” you said, turning to face Dean. 

“Back to business,” he nodded. He glanced out the front door at the others, ensuring they weren’t watching, and expression softened. “Y/N, thank you for everything.” 

“Dean…” you stepped closer to him, taking his hands in yours. “I know you guys are up against something bigger than the world. Again. But if you die, I will personally hunt you down and kill you. _Again_.” 

Dean laughed, flaunting those little lines beside his eyes you remembered so fondly. “Yeah, you would.” 

You shook your head and pulled him into an embrace. Leaning up to his ear, holding back every emotion and at the same time channeling them all into your words, you said, in a soft command, “come back to me.” 

Dean squeezed you tightly, then reached behind his neck. You stepped back, looking confused, as he removed a silver chain from beneath his shirt. He motioned for you to turn around, and he draped the necklace over your collarbone, securing the clasp and spinning you back around to face him. 

“I’ve had that since before we met,” he explained as you brushed your fingers across the chain. “I usually wear it under the shirt because… well, because it’s important. Take care of it for me, and I’ll come back for it, ‘kay?” 

“I think I can do that,” you said. “Just try not to take twelve years to come back this time?” 

Dean smiled. “I’ll do what I can.” 

“You better.” You hooked your fingers through his belt loops and pulled him into a kiss, the feel of his lips, the taste of his mouth, the sensation of his skin burning themselves into your memory. A lone tear slipped down your cheek as you caressed his jaw one last time, looking into his eyes, trying to tell him a thousand things in the space of a few seconds. You hoped he understood them. 

You leaned against the doorframe, Lola and Jiji beside you, as Dean walked down the path toward the Impala. He looked back at you before starting the engine, and although you wanted to do more, you sent him off with a smile and a quick wave. The Impala set off down the road and you watched it until it was out of sight, hoping that whatever was in store for the Winchesters, it would lead them back to you someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me until the end--it means the world to me that you did! I hope you enjoyed it! <3


End file.
